"Here's a modest proposal. Let's start playing the Super Bowl at the home stadium of the team with the best record. Imagine this Sunday instead of playing on the fast tracks of Scottsdale, in front of an audience text messaging in between martintis, the Patriots had to prove their worth in the Frigidaire of New England. Imagine if the fans were those same beautifully hateable minions that have been slogging to Foxboro all year. Imagine the excitement as the Giants would attempt to win a fourth straight game on the road. Imagine Eli avenging the Mannings in front of the Foxboro faithful (and just imagine…I'm from New York). Instead both teams have become scenery, some athletic bursts of poetry around which to sell us erection
medicine, beer, and tires that are allegedly being produced by African child
"But exhilaration just isn’t part of the program. Like a burly sous-chef pounding a chicken breast into flattened submission, the audacity and excitement of the great game of football have been pummeled out of the contest. A great way to avoid dangerous over stimulation would be to take five hours… and watch the game."
Not that any of you needed a reason to pass on the pre-game hoopla and just turn the game on quarter after six, like any sane and rational person.
The Super Bowl: Who Stole the Soul? (The Edge of Sports)